A Broken Prayer
by queenoctavia
Summary: There is no way to describe the agony
1. Now I lay me down to sleep

Fallen. That was the word. Not fallen into the ground, not even into a rock. Fallen into an abysmal black hole where one could only keep falling. Tom Riddle had snapped and the darkness had enveloped his soul once again as he prepared for his visit.

With the mirthless smile of a man who knows too much, he began to get ready. Oh, how wonderful to finally know. With the air of a expectant father, tiredly alert and cautiously happy, the Dark lord set forth carrying only a wand and a gargantuan snake. He loved Nagini to witness his visits and felt an insane pride in having her there, like a Little Leaguer has in bringing his mom to his first game. What a wonderful visit this would be... Tom had been waiting...


	2. Pray the Lord my soul to keep

Lily was tired of waiting. It had to be tonight. She couldn't live like this any longer. Her eyes had taken a demonic black flint to their usual sage and she herself was steeled for death. Had it not been for the Seer in her blood, she would know nothing of this night. She hadn't slept since she had known. Her life had taken one purpose only; to save Harry. She and James must die and in Voldemort's mind, in was already done. But the fire she had wouldn't allow her to die before giving James this final service. James would not die without an heir. Casting her eyes over Harry and James wearily, she let herself cry her tears of bitterness and desperation, if only for a moment. Finally falling asleep was a bitter luxury, like eating the best meal of your life, but with poison. Before she lost her bearings, she repeated a long-forgotten prayer whispered before sleep in the days she lived with Petunia and her parents. She sleepwalked and said in her dreams, "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to keep." Before finally collapsing in a pile of misshapen Lily she realized this knowledge was turning her soul into shreds. It was too late. Now there was nothing that could be done.


	3. If I should die before I wake

Harry turned fitfully in his half-sleep. Even obvious to his underdeveloped infant psyche, something was wrong. He could feel only a comparative ounce of Lily's anguish, but that was enough to make this infant, pure of mind and soul, writhe within his crib. He had never given up this crib even at a year old because of the security. It smelt of baby powder and his father's cologne and the softness and warmth never changed. Though he could still smell the powder and cologne, it had now lost its security for him. It reeked of death. He cried out in the crib, certain his haven would become his deathbed. One group of sounds replayed in his mind, fitting the soundtrack for the night. "_Now I lay me down to sleep..."_


	4. Pray the Lord my soul to take

_**KNOCK! KNOCK!**_The dreadful sound resonated throughout the Potter residence as James and Lily slept. Harry awoke and sat up bolt straight. Lily, to her extreme chagrin, had been woken up by tiny Harry's wet thumb poking her in the nose. "Thank God," she thought, "It was only a dream." Voldemort had gotten fed up with the polite stuff, so he simply blasted down the door. "GIVE ME THE BOY!!" Lily was frenzied. No, no, it couldn't be Harry, not the only reason to stay alive! She wept and begged, trying to barter her life for his. "FOOLISH GIRL!" A flash of green light and all the life was drained from those unblinking, all-seeing green eyes. "NO!" James lept and tried to knock Voldemort's wand from his hand. He did not make it, but as the last signs of life vanished from her eyes, he no longer cared. "Kill me too! I've no more reason to live! Kill me too!" Voldemort was ever so happy to oblige and with a flash of green light, James died the way he wanted to die: with Lily in his arms.


	5. Amen

Another green light flashed. Harry was dead. Voldemort's job was done. An unfortunate moment of connection had occurred, but Voldemort brushed it off. Nothing would happen. It wasn't important. He had blasted the house and its inhabitants beyond repair, and that was what counted.

But, alas. Voldemort was wrong. Something in the Potter house was stirring. A tiny being curled tighter into himself within the rubble. Weakly crying out for his mother, the baby was alone and scarred. Something very wrong had happened. He fell asleep and for a moment, everything in the world was right.


End file.
